


Whatever It is, It's very powerful...

by YawningOverTheTapestries



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, First Kiss, Fluff, I Blame Tumblr, Inspired By Tumblr, Kissing, M/M, hee hee, of a sort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2015-03-07
Packaged: 2018-03-16 16:28:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3495164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YawningOverTheTapestries/pseuds/YawningOverTheTapestries
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John found a fantastic way to tell London that he and Sherlock are a couple.</p><p>Sherlock can say what he wants about it, but it'll either be wonderful, or excruciatingly funny...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whatever It is, It's very powerful...

**Author's Note:**

> Title from 'Love Is', by Stevie Nicks

John still can't take his eyes away from the screen, even though his mobile is still pinned to his ear.

Trafalgar Square is _this_ packed, only for special occasions. Christmas, Chinese New Year, and so on. But this crowd is for the screen.

 

Proudly displayed on a stage, the screen looks perfectly innocuous, until someone steps behind its charcoal pixels, and it illuminates their bones like an X-ray monitor. Two people step behind it at a time, and embrace, or snog, or simply high-five, and then step in front of it, and receive a great round of applause. Because the kissing couple are both the same gender, and behind them the screen displays 'Love has no gender'. Or the huggers are two different races, and behind them is 'Love has no race'. John's been grinning like a soppy idiot for hours, watching each and every reveal, wandering round the square looking for the best vantage point. When he first arrived to this, he wanted to know if it was some kind of charity event, but now he knows it's not. This is merely for the benefit of whoever's here to watch; there are cameras here and there, though. Whatever this is, wherever it started, it seems to just be here to make a point. Open people's eyes.

Which is why he's left Sherlock eight, no, nine messages on his phone. Because he loves the irony of getting the most bluntly and self-righteously honest, tirelessly observant person he's ever met, arguably in the entire world, to come and see this.

And if he can get away with that, then maybe, just _maybe_ , the two of them could step up to it...

 

 

John is contemplating climbing up onto one of the lions at the seat of Nelson's Column, to give himself a better view, and give Sherlock a better chance of seeing him; he might have been unable to hear his missed-calls alert in the noise of the crowd.

Because said most bluntly and self-righteously honest, tirelessly observant person John has ever met, is also the loveliest person in his life. Who has made his life so much more, so much better, than he could ever make it on his own. The man John regards as a huge privilege to have in his life. But maybe, best of all, he's no longer oblivious to John's love for him, so, _finally_ , John can lavish him in all the kisses he's been saving up. And so much more besides. But strictly behind closed doors.

That brings him to this. The fact that they've yet to make it public.

 

"There you are!" Here he comes, all sweeping tails of his Belstaff, all ruffled and bright-eyed from the buzzing atmosphere.

"Alright, John, I'll forgive you for this not having anything to do with a case, but - what is this?"

 

 

If John is absolutely frank, he'd say that all the rest of London already acts like it's public. They whisper and giggle. They side-eye them as they pass them in the street. They speculate what happens just after 221B's door closes.

Only the horrible ones actually harass them. They get ignored, and they are reasonably harmless.

 

 

"Oh, you are pulling my leg."

Sherlock doesn't even look incredulous, just faintly amused, the way he often does when picking elusive clues apart. He won't laugh, though. But John might.

If he does he'll never convince him, so instead he just keeps up his sunny expression. "Come on, Sherlock, it's _perfect_."

"Participating in this?"

"Everyone will - "

"Laugh."

"Lau - no. No, no. They'll love it." _For starters, it'll put a stop to all the silly salacious rumours._

 

"It's a bit... abrupt."

John shakes his head, but he's unfazed. "What?"

"Months of asking questions, then we dispel all the speculation, by doing _this._ The punchline is practically written for us."

"Pessimist."

"Do I need to remind you that there are subtle differences between male and female skeletons?"

" _No_ , twat. You've got to be the only person who'd come to this and... Sherlock, _why_ do you think all these people are here? I thought it'd be how you'd want to tell everyone. You love being a drama queen."

Sherlock frowns at the exuberant, but earnest adoration on his beloved's face. "Besides, neither of us are really, that good at... "

Despite the temptation, John refrains from reaching for Sherlock's lapels. No teasers beforehand - they've never held hands in public, not once. It'll make their first public kiss the biggest surprise they can make it.

"...small talk."

 

He's got a point. Their last post-coital conversation was about, of all things, 80s and 90s rock. They're more comfortable with expressing what they share in its soft hand squeezes, its lingering touches, its cheeky bickering, its chaste kisses that fill out the time between passionate surges.

All private. And maybe they could keep it that way for longer.

 

"So we're not keeping them guessing any more?"

"Life's too short. Let's go for it."

At this, Sherlock does that lovely thing he does from time to time: drop his head down a little, and let himself relax, with that soft expression that says _what miraculous things did I accomplish in my previous life, to deserve this beautiful man?_

 

 

Fifteen minutes later, they're stood behind the great screen, and John's the only one who actually looks nervous. Well, nervously excited. Sherlock runs one hand over John's arm. "I'll freely admit you are brimming over with surprises."

"But?" John gazes pointedly at him, knowing the _But_ is there unspoken. It's a bit late for backing out now.

"Oh, never mind."

Now John clutches at handfuls of scarf and lapels. "But what?" he repeats.

"We wouldn't make an announcement with the press intentionally watching for it. And you could put it on your blog and we'd probably never hear the end of it."

"Sherlock - "

"Really, John. We both know the kind of readership it has. It can't be first place we break the news."

"Is this you thanking me?"

Sherlock considers it, but at the same time he brushes fingertips at the apple of John's cheek. "If you must... feel free to share this with whoever you like. Even though this will probably have gone viral by the end of the day. But given the circumstances I don't think I could imagine up this."

John affectionately tugs him close. He's gleefully refusing to wait any longer. "Shut up and kiss me."

 

 

They can hear the swelling noise of the crowd, but only because they can't help it. They ignore it. In favour of giving one another their undivided attention. Just drinking each other in...

They can take all the time they want, and they do. Even with closed eyes, John can sense Sherlock's slight anxiousness - _hundreds of eyes are on us, and they don't have a clue that it's us_ \- the caress of Sherlock's lips over his own is light, almost too light. He gasps for air a little, so John waits. Knowing full well it's coming.

He nudges his nose against Sherlock's gently, flirting with the anticipation between them, and all those waiting people.

 _oh, he's going for it_ \- Sherlock's lips part slightly, so they can graze softly at each other. Their senses flood with the feel of it, the familiarity of it, right to John's arms wrapping Sherlock's waist and heaped with the great layer of his coat. It's so much less awkward than it was not long ago, and John rests one hand at Sherlock's nape to draw him in deeper, coupled with easing his tongue in, feeling Sherlock's own against it, warm and heavy and pressing, tasting slowly... _let them watch. let them enjoy. they'll lose their minds when they see it's us._

John's hand slides up and into that luscious curly tangle, fingers tightening at his scalp, before drawing tiny circles just behind his ear. He loves that, and John gets a soft moan as a reward. Sherlock's big hands feel soft, yet protective, at his neck and the small of his back. Holding him close, the way they fit against each other, tall and elegant balanced by short and stocky.

 

It drags on for nearly a full minute, regardless of how fast or slow time seems to pass for them, until, at last, they break apart. John sighs, content, sunshine breaking out over his face, while Sherlock is utterly breathless, a fleeting reminder of their very first kiss. Of when it was all raw and new for them. There's such tenderness in his eyes, and it tugs at John's heartstrings, resulting in a sweet kiss on the nose.

 _They're all still watching two anonymous, passionately embraced silhouettes._ Sherlock has to laugh, voiceless for a moment. John is chuckling as well, delighting in this moment unlike any other, of professing love, and indulging in mischief.

John kisses Sherlock one more time, before tipping his head towards the edge of the screen. _You go first._

 

Sherlock can hardly wait, and steps right up to the crowd - he gives his greatest big winning entrance and they give a wild cheer of sheer amazement.

He basks in it for a second or two, before turning his gaze to the other end of the stage: there's the smaller silhouette tilting forward so John's head can peer out and smile to the crowd.

Their cheer is now deafening loud, overjoyed for them.

Once he's confirmed the great speculation, and stepped out properly, he doesn't acknowledge them, but strides right over to Sherlock, and wraps his arms round him. Squeezes him so tight. Embracing as if they'd been parted for decades instead of seconds.

 

John's hug nearly creaks Sherlock's ribs, and it feels fitting. Sherlock likes the idea of their ribcages cracking open, their hearts beating in tandem. For the first time he _wants_ fireworks, wants this to be a celebration, wants all the world to see and know.

In spite of himself, he lets John let go, allows his head to bubble over, his heart to race, adrenaline washing over as John kisses the corner of his mouth, and _then_ they have a good look at the crowd. There is clapping, cheering, disbelief, one obscenely delighted girl - _journalist from the South Kensington shooting two months back_ , a cluster of red faces close to the front they recognise as Yarders, one of which gets handed a ten-pound-note from another. Every last one, all of them are welcome.

 

"Well, ladies and gentlemen," Sherlock addresses them, and John fixes him with a blunt look of mock-horror - _what_ is he going to say? _I hope you're all appeased and happy now? I will personally have my brother waterboard anyone who uploads this on YouTube? If this gets brought up again we both shall become eloped recluses and only shall return for cases colder than Bart's post-mortem room?_

Or maybe, simply, _Sorry, ladies, but John Watson is MINE now?_

 

Nope, it's nothing like that.

What he does say, makes John fall head-over-heels in love all over again. It tells him of just how perfect a couple they are, how they're in tune with each other and will probably spend the rest of their lives like this, nipping away at each other.

"If just to end speculation, this was John's idea." He gets answered with a squeeze and a laugh and a face buried in his shoulder. Behind them is a proudly displayed 'Love has no gender.'

 _This is the sort of thing love does._ It drives you mad, and brings out your best. _Why_ would it care about _gender_?

**Author's Note:**

> http://bakerstreetbeadcurtains.tumblr.com/post/112891075341/sizvideos-love-has-no-labels-video-via-siz-ios
> 
>  
> 
> I found this thing and put it on my Tumblr.  
> Go look at it, and tell me you don't love it.  
> I dare you.


End file.
